“So I wint to bed, an’ waited while th’ Mickrobes had fun with me.  Mondah all iv thim was quite but thim in me stummick.  They stayed up late dhrinkin’ an’ carousin’ an’ dancin’ jigs till wurruds come up between th’ Kerry Mickrobes an’ thim fr’m Wexford; an’ th’ whole party wint over to me left lung, where they cud get th’ air, an’ had it out.  Th’ nex’ day th’ little Mickrobes made a toboggan slide iv me spine; an’ manetime some Mickrobes that was wurkin’ f’r th’ tilliphone comp’ny got it in their heads that me legs was poles, an’ put on their spikes an’ climbed all night long.

“They was tired out th’ nex’ day till about five o’clock, whin thim that was in me head begin flushin’ out th’ rooms; an’ I knew there was goin’ to be doin’s in th’ top flat.  What did thim Mickrobes do but invite all th’ other Mickrobes in f’r th’ ev’nin’.  They all come.  Oh, by gar, they was not wan iv them stayed away.  At six o’clock they begin to move fr’m me shins to me throat.  They come in platoons an’ squads an’ dhroves.  Some iv thirn brought along brass bands, an’ more thin wan hundherd thousand iv thim dhruv through me pipes on dhrays.  A throlley line was started up me back, an’ ivry car run into a wagon-load iv scrap iron at th’ base iv me skull.

“Th’ Mickrobes in me head must ’ve done thimsilves proud.  Ivry few minyits th’ kids ‘d be sint out with th’ can, an’ I’d say to mesilf:  ‘There they go, carryin’ th’ thrade to Schwartzmeister’s because I’m sick an’ can’t wait on thim.’  I was daffy, Jawn, d’ye mind.  Th’ likes iv me fillin’ a pitcher f’r a little boy-bug!  Such dhreams!  An’ they had a game iv forty-fives; an’ there was wan Mickrobe that larned to play th’ game in th’ County Tipp’rary, where ‘tis played on stone, an’ ivry time he led thrumps he’d like to knock me head off.  ’Whose thrick is that?’ says th’ Tipp’rary Mickrobe. ‘’Tis mine,’ says th’ red-headed Mickrobe fr’m th’ County Roscommon.  They tipped over th’ chairs an’ tables:  an’, in less time thin it takes to tell, th’ whole party was at it.  They’d been a hurlin’ game in th’ back iv me skull, an’ th’ young folks was dancin’ breakdowns an’ havin’ leppin’ matches in me forehead; but they all stopped to mix in.  Oh, ’twas a grand shindig—­tin millions iv men, women, an’ childher rowlin’ on th’ flure, hands an’ feet goin’, ice-picks an’ hurlin’ sticks, clubs, brickbats, an’ beer kags flyin’ in th’ air!  How manny iv thim was kilt I niver knew; f’r I wint as daft as a hen, an’ dhreamt iv organizin’ a Mickrobe Campaign Club that ‘d sweep th’ prim’ries, an’ maybe go acrost an’ free Ireland.  Whin I woke up, me legs was as weak as a day old baby’s, an’ me poor head impty as a cobbler’s purse.  I want no more iv thim.  Give me anny bug fr’m a cockroach to an aygle save an’ excipt thim West iv Ireland Fenians, th’ Mickrobes.”

LEXOW.